He’s a great kid, well liked by his peers, and adults get a kick out of his good manners and respect for his elders. My wife and I get compliments all the time. I guess I should just hold on to these memories because if he ever makes it in the vicious cesspool that is “Hollywood” all I’ll have are memories.

I try not to listen to all the hype when the “media” pounces on a celebrity’s misstep/missfortune, but it’s difficult to ignore when it’s blared on all channels/stations all the time. The most recent victim of media-rhea is Tiger Woods.

Don’t misunderstand me. I know he screwed up, and it was all his fault, but couldn’t he have fallen from grace without the dirt diggers throwing away their trowels and replacing them with diesel powered backhoes to find #13, or #17, or whatever number he is up to? His disgrace should be a very private matter between a married couple and really, no one elses business. Now with all the press, and humiliation this has caused his wife and her family there will be less chance for this family to heal. Again, I am not condoning his actions, but forgiveness and repentance might have stood a fighting chance without the limelight.

If Mr. Woods worked at Walmart stocking shelves and golfed only on the weekends for fun I don’t think he would be married to his current wife (I doubt she would have given him a second look), and I doubt the media would care, or even have known, if he was promiscuous. Sometimes it’s good to be a “nobody”.

Looks like I went somewhat off tangent there. I guess I just want my son to know that all that glitters isn’t gold, and if you rub the luster off of celebrity it is the most tarnished piece of faux jewelry that carries a hefty price tag. I love him too much to see his potential future failings, whose fires will be stoked by celebrity to begin with, broadcast throughout a media hungry world.

Typically I could count on Ava (5) or Jada (3) waking up between 5:45 and 6:15. This was perfect for me. At the latest I need to be up by 6:30 and out of the house by 7:15. Sure, I could get out quicker if need be but I hate to rush my mornings and I do quite well on little sleep, depending on who you ask. The last few months though they’ve been sleeping later, staggering from their room closer to 6:30 or 6:45. It was on one of these late mornings when Ava had asked about the lines.

I was rushing to get my laptop into its case when Ava called from the kitchen, “Daddy, what are those lines?”

“What lines? What are you talking about?”

“Those lines, right there!” she said.

I love it when kids do this. They reference something that is clearly in sight but fail to be specific enough for you to know what it is they are referring to and then they get exasperated because of your cluelessness.

“Ava, you’re going to need to point at what you’re talking about or describe it better because “lines” just doesn’t tell me enough.”

At this point she pushed her chair away from the table (I mentioned exasperated right?) and makes her way over to me. By this time I’ve collected most of what I need to make it out the door and am getting my shoes on. My own bit of exasperation is mounting.

“These lines” she says as her hand touches my face just outside my eyes.

“Oh, those lines.” I reply, grinning.

“That’s cool! I can see them better now.” she expounded.

“Well, that’s because you made me smile. They’re called smile lines. I have them because you and your sisters make me smile so much.”

“I want lines too” she said.

“Soon enough kiddo. Soon enough”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her they are also called crow’s feet. I give my kids enough reason to ridicule me. Intentionally loading them up with ammunition just doesn’t seem wise.

The oldest among our small tribe, Ava, had just left for a 4H meeting with her mother. A meeting her mother has waited years for as it was the first she would be taking a daughter of her own to. Her mother loved 4H as a child and remembers fondly the impression it left on her own childhood. To share this with her own kin, one as interested in animals and service as she was special indeed. However, this writing is not about that 4H meeting or the bonding between mother and daughter, rather it is about what happened after they left.

We stood at the door. The baby, Tessa, in the crook of my left arm and the three year old, Jada, leaning against my leg. We waved as the car moved past the house and out of site. Jada looked up at me and asked, “What special thing are we going to do today Daddy?”, a fine question. It was a beautiful day outside and wasting it indoors felt like a crime. We moved to the closet and gathered up sweatshirts and fall coats. Jada commented on kicking up the fallen leaves beneath her swing and Tessa jumped and squealed in my arms as she became aware we were heading outdoors.

The backyard and swing set held the allure they always do, a safe place for the kids to run while never far from the watchful eye of their parents. This was our first stop. Jada has a deep preference for the see-saw swing and wasted no time as she pleaded for me to push her “SO SO SO SO High”. Tessa was relegated to the hard red plastic of her baby swing and looked adoringly toward her older sister.

This November day was the kind only a Michigander can truly appreciate. The air held crisp and the sky shone blue. Clouds moved lazily through the spacious sky, not wanting to touch one another. Enjoying their own quiet meanderings without having to partake in the gossip and frivolity clouds are accustomed to.

An attentive father can often sense when an activity is nearing its end. Before giving the girls an opportunity to realize they were on the brink of boredom I asked Jada what she would like to do next. “Let’s go on a nature walk.” she said, a fine idea. We gathered up the necessities, loading them into the stroller and began making our way.

Our home is three miles from the nearest town. It’s a small town the likes of which wouldn’t exist without the farming community around it. Five miles in the opposite direction is a larger town, one that can even claim a handful of traffic signals and puts on one heck of a fourth of July parade. The parade consists mostly of tractors and the good ole boys that drive them and we’re just fine with that. We enjoy the quiet. Big city folk we aren’t.

A few years ago a new street cropped up roughly a quarter mile from our doorstep. The street stretched about a quarter mile in the warm months. The winter months often leave the end of the road covered in snow drifts making its full distance difficult to navigate. It’s a cul de sac and only a few homes have been built along it. I’m certain the builders had more homes in mind but we all know how the economy exhaled not so long ago and is just beginning to consider drawing breath again. This is where we walk most times because the landscape is rough and the paved road is easy on the stroller. Being close to home doesn’t hurt a bit either.

We moved along the street, Jada investigating the landscape and discovering all manner of treasures. There was a clever thing about these treasures. They were disguised as rocks. Each one relatively bland in color and less than fascinating in texture, that is until Jada clothed them in her descriptive words.

“Look Daddy! See how this one shines. I think it might be a diamond.”

“This one is red right here just a little bit. Ruby’s are red right Daddy?”

It should be clear to most that any walk worth its distance cannot be travelled far without a good walking stick. The girls have been taught that a good stick can be carried as a tool, crutch or weapon. This lesson was not lost on Jada, her gaze constantly surveying the side of the road for the right walking stick. Ultimately her perseverance paid off as she found a right proper walking stick indeed. Now sure in her step and well equipped we continued the way forward.

Our stroll was unrelenting as we entered the cul de sac. It was eerily quiet as Jada marched headstrong toward some destination unknown to me. She paused to investigate the dirt that met the road and noticed animal prints, prints she were sure belonged to a lion.

“A lion!” I scoffed. “That’s just absurd Jada. You do know we live in Michigan right? There haven’t been lions native to this area for three decades or more.”

“They are lion steps Daddy” she assured me. “We should be careful”.

“Then careful we shall be my girl. Careful we shall be.” I said as I scanned the horizon.

We moved maybe a quarter of the way back toward home when Jada stopped us abruptly. Her index finger in front of her lips as she crouched peering into the tall grass.

“I see it.” She said in her hushed voice.

“The lion?” I asked.

“Yes, don’t move” she whispered while she pushed Tessa’s stroller away with one hand, the other clutching the walking stick. In one fierce motion she brought the walking stick up over her head and yelled something in what could only be described as a tribal tongue and then fell silent. Tessa sat in her stroller staring wide eyed.

“Is everything ok?” I asked.

“Yes” she said. “It was jumping at us but I got it. I killed it.”

I was about to praise her quick and true response to the threat when I heard it. Had the dragon been any closer it may have been too late. The quiet of its wings was almost upon us when I turned. The sword free from its scabbard I slashed the air above my head.

The battle ensued until Jada’s cry broke through. “Noooooo!”

“Jada what’s wrong?” I asked while placing the sword back in its scabbard.

“That was a good dragon Daddy. It wasn’t going to hurt us.” she replied.

“I’m sorry honey. I didn’t know. I thought it was mean” I said, surprised at this turn of events.

“It’s ok Daddy. This one is dead,” she said, “but there are more. Good ones and bad ones.”

“Thanks for understanding Jada”

The remainder of the walk was relatively uneventful. Shortly after we were safely home the oldest girl and her mother found their way home as well. Jada wasted little time filling the two of them in on our adventure. Ava laughed as Jada and I shared in the telling while their mom listened intently.

Jada would throw glances at me as she talked, seeming to look for some nod of agreement.

“You’ve got it just right kiddo” I thought. “That’s just how I remember it.”

It started out like any normal day at a major attraction. The lines into the building snaked around the facility’s grounds, the sun was beating down on us. Children complained, parents grumbled. Finally getting into the building was a treat. We paid our admission fee and blended into the crowd of stroller pushing shlubs.

We meandered through the aquarium’s many vignettes, alcoves and rooms that peppered the facility until we came to a large enclosure that housed animals of the Pacific Northwest coast. Because it was supposed to emulate the Northwest I looked forward to it being nice and cool. Instead it was hot, crowded and noisy. A very large group of people dressed in bright yellow T-Shirts had taken over the facility and were climbing all over the chairs, handrails and static exhibits, shouting, laughing and yelling as they cavorted around the furniture. There were other people with the same yellow shirts with the words "STAFF", or some other similar word, emblazoned across their shirts scurrying about trying to keep the peace, but because of a combination of the staffers ages, inexperience, and general "outnumbered-ness" they were doing a pretty inefficient job of it.

I took a quick assessment of the situation and realized that the group was made up of individuals of varying ages and mental disabilities. I loosened my jaw and calmed down a bit. I have a difficult time with unruly behavior. I don’t allow my kids to act like wild animals, specially in public, and I expect other parents to do the same. This situation was different however, so I went from rolling boil down to tolerant simmer.

My baby sister belongs to a "Type C" group and they go on field trips all the time. She is considered "High Functioning", similar to some of the aforementioned yellow clad individuals, and is extremely affectionate – sometimes to the chagrin of family members. I am pretty familiar with individuals, and groups, of this nature.

I scanned the main room and found a small observation area tucked away behind a submarine display where we could view the Beluga Whales under water . I navigated my family through the melee and hustled them into the cavern like doorway. I breathed a sigh of relief as we ducked in and I started looking at all the informational plaques and doodads on the wall

Only a couple of minutes went by before I heard exited female voices shouting a boy’s name and "NO! STRANGER, STRANGER!" repeatedly. My parent radar snapped on as I whipped around and looked towards the source of the commotion. I fully expected to see a little boy running towards a group of people he didn’t know as his smother-mother ran after him, instead all I could see was a large, towering, big boned man on the other side of the little room as he lumbered quickly towards me. Two 5′ 2"/ 100 lb. women were wrapped around his waist and arms, trying desperately to keep him from walking in my direction. We locked eyes as he barreled towards me, as oblivious of these two small women as he would have been had he had dryer sheets stuck to his shirt. I reluctantly readied myself for a physical confrontation.

In the few seconds after bracing myself I realized that although he was much larger than I was, and his unblinking gaze looked very determined, he meant me no harm. He wore a yellow shirt, just like the rest of the group, and an inordinately small child’s backpack was strapped to his back. The "dryer sheet’s" shirts helped clue me in also.

He finally reached me and grasped my shoulders as I put my hands on his shoulders to hold him at bay. This finally gained the girls some leverage. He struggled to pull me towards him as one of them caught her composure and sternly said his name along with "He’s a stranger! We don’t hug strangers!" to no avail.

I realized that developmentally he was probably the equivalent of a five year old and only wanted some affection, so I told the girls that it was OK (like there was any difference at this point). I loosened my grip on his shoulder and he gave me a big bear hug (something my sister likes to do to me). I hugged him back and patted his back. After a few seconds he gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, released his hug, and allowed the girls to easily lead him away from the small crowd that had developed behind us. One girl gently, but firmly, tried to reinforce the "STRANGER!" rule to him as the other, in damage control mode, apologized to me profusely, and thanked me for understanding. I waved off her apology telling her there was nothing to apologize for.

As they walked away I unclenched every joint, and muscle and tried to shrug off the adrenaline. I knew that I had just broken a cardinal rule that the staffers try to reinforce to all their "kids" time and time again, but just saw no other way around the situation. I hoped they understood my position, and I hoped I didn’t just undermine everything they worked so hard to instill in their wards.

I replayed the incident in my mind several times over the course of the day and tried to figure out why he was so focused on hugging me specifically. There were other people in that room, and I am not particularly cuddly or huggable, just ask anybody who knows me (If I were a zoo animal I’d be more of a porcupine, skunk, or possibly even that dung flinging monkey). Of all the people that it could have happened to that day I’m glad, and thankful, it happened to me! Can you imagine how bad it could have been for him had he chosen to hug a jumpy homophobe, jacked up on testosterone, as he tried to impress his cadre of similarly minded, intolerant friends (I saw a few of those in the facility that day). The outcome could have been very, very different.

This particular park does an excellent job of helping parents keep track of their kids. They go so far as to sound an alarm every 15-20 minutes which serves as an opportunity for the kids to exit the water so they can be counted. The lifeguards are pretty relentless about this too. If some kid decides he doesn’t need to get out then no one else goes back in until he does get out. There’s even a drill that takes place in the event a child comes up missing. The parents are asked to lock their arms and wade into the water together (as long as they don’t have small children to tend to) searching and clearing the area directly in front of them. I lean toward the overly cautious side so these steps are just the kind of thing I like to see.

On this day the alarm sounded and kids were counted. Just as everyone was heading back into the water a mother cried out. She couldn’t find her daughter.

My wife and girls were at the park with our neighbor, another mom, and her two boys. They quickly sat the kids down on a blanket and directed them to NOT MOVE. The parents locked elbows and began wading into the water while others began looking in other areas of the park. My wife was looking over her shoulder at our kids almost constantly. The children sat on the blanket. Stock still and wide eyed.

Within minutes the girl was found. She had wandered outside the water area and was just out of sight. She was returned to her mother and I imagine there was a collective sigh among the parents and lifeguards.

When my wife returned to our kids, who still hadn’t moved, our four year old girl Ava asked, “Did you find her?”

“Someone did honey. She’s right over there with her Mommy. Everything is fine. Are you ok?”

Ava looked up and asked, “Kids really do go missing?’”

My wife responded, telling Ava that kids do sometimes go missing and our occasional warnings to she and her little sister are real. She explained that we just want to keep everyone safe and together.

Ava said she understood and had a great big hug for her mom. The littler one, Jada, was also keen to what was going on and wedged herself in between the two of them.

My wife relayed this story to me on the phone after they had come home and the kids were down for their naps. I was obviously relieved there had been no tragedy’s to report.

When I got home that evening Ava met me at the door. She filled me in on what had happened at the park. The detail she remembered was impressive. The hair color of the girl that had slipped away. The color of her bathing suit. How she had hugged her mom when they were reunited. Ava also told me that “sometimes kids do go missing, Daddy”.

I told her, “I know” and we hugged for a good long time.

This may have been a tough way for her to learn the truth of the dangers that are out there, but I’m grateful she learned.